Rules of Engagement
by Tara1189
Summary: "Kill the Sherriff. Save the king. And I will give you what you want." Guy stared into her tense face a long moment, black brows narrowed together, his eyes gleaming. "Prove it," he said.
1. Part I: Guy

**Summary: **"Kill the Sherriff. Save the king. And I will give you what you want." Guy stared into her tense face a long moment, black brows narrowed together, his eyes gleaming. "Prove it," he said.

**Set during 2x13, which came as something of a surprise, given that my head-canon for this show generally stops after 2x11 (it was the perfect ending, okay?) Intended as a twoshot, though the temptation of turning it into a full-blown fic is becoming alarmingly strong...**

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><p><strong>RULES OF ENGAGEMENT<strong>

**PART I –- GUY**

'_**O limed soul, that, struggling to be free,  
>A<strong>__**rt more engaged!'**_

Those memories of Acre stole upon him startlingly clear and vivid; the dry, scorching heat, the metal-stained blood trodden into the sands by thousands of rough-shod feet. An arcing line of cerulean sky, the desert a burning strip of gold glimpsed in bright flashes through the cloaked assassin's mask wreathed around his pale features. Haughty Christian knights, weary pilgrims and fierce, black-eyed Saracens, all pledging their swords in the name of God. A cruel, harsh land without pity or mercy, where men died with blood on their hands and prayers faltering on their lips. It had haunted his dreams long after he had returned to Nottingham.

He had never expected to set foot on this cursed landscape again. Not since –

_Flashes of a wolf's head tattoo, the musky darkness of a clouded tent, cries and a struggle, the thought _we failed_, and the frantic desperation of escape -_

"Gisborne!" Vaisey's sharp voice cut through the images burning in his mind. "Are you listening?"

Guy looked up reluctantly. Shadows danced across the face of the Sherriff who was waving his goblet about with a deceptive airiness, the light flashing off the polished metal edge and picking out the maniacal gleam in those hazel irises.

"Yes," Guy returned sullenly, the resentful impatience betraying itself in his voice. He was chafing under this confinement, forced to remain hidden away, when back in England, he had had an entire estate to call his own and the vast walls of Nottingham castle to assert his power. But they had come to the Holy Land like fugitives in the night, and remained closed away like this for hours; locked in secret meetings in closeted rooms under torchlight, the table littered with Arabic scripts, the scent of dust and blood and sacred incense hanging in low swathes. The heavy heat stole upon him, made him feel dulled, lethargic. He could feel the perspiration trickling down between his shoulder blades, his skin unbearably hot beneath the restrictive confines of the leather tunic. Guy sighed, stretching his long body that had begun to ache under this enforced inactivity, and tried to focus on the matter at hand.

"We're about to kill the King, Gisborne. Try and show a little enthusiasm."

"I am… delighted, my lord."

The Sherriff turned away, drumming his fingers against the table in distraction. "Yes, yes… now, about that other matter, our Lady Leper friend, Marian –"

"What about her?" demanded Guy, a shade too quickly. He felt his formerly apathetic body stiffen, suddenly awake and alert in every nerve. Even now, her very name had the power to undo him. He despised himself for the weakness (the _humanity_) he had once convinced himself he was immune from. His feelings had led to nothing but betrayal and disappointment, and he would not be made a fool of again. Especially not for her. He had learned his lesson and would not be burned again. He would remember what he had been taught. _Humanity is weakness. Humanity is weakness._

Vaisey's shrewd, cunning gaze missed nothing; a knowing smile curled around the edges of his thin mouth. "She's becoming a nuisance, Gisborne. Deal with her. Or I will."

"Marian is no threat to us," Guy muttered.

"Good. Because if Missy's prying little schemes put so much as a dent in my assassination plan…" Vaisey's hand gripped his jaw painfully, forcing Guy to unwillingly meet his gaze. His bloodshot eyes were wild, skittish, too full of energy. "On your head be it." Wine-scented breath fell heavy on his cheek, but Guy was not fooled. Vaisey was cruel enough and cunning enough to feign inebriation to lower his lieutenant's guard, and Guy was determined not to betray himself where Marian was concerned. Right now, his enforced indifference was perhaps the only thing standing between her and instant death. So he merely allowed himself an ugly grimace and said with what he hoped would pass for sadistic exultance, "She will be brought to heel, my lord. I'll make it my personal responsibility."

The Sherriff smiled unpleasantly, a false sweetness lingering on the surface of those grating tones. "I think you're finally learning, Gisborne. On your merry way, then."

Guy did not hesitate, thankful for the momentary reprieve. Vaisey's moods had been more tolerable of late, less prone to the blackening rages that often left Guy smarting under bruises that the leather armour could not fully conceal. Perhaps the Sherriff sensed that victory was close, that all they had worked for was finally in sight. The power, the position, the security – it all lay within the grasp of his hand. He was close now, so close to achieving everything he had desired these long years. He was not about to allow any distractions to his path to power. Not anymore. His fate was now tied entirely to Vaisey's; he lived or died with him. No one else mattered.

No one -

_She's becoming a nuisance, Gisborne. Deal with her. Or I will._

Guy shuddered at the memory of Vaisey's words crawling across his flesh, those insidious tones taken in like the bitter-tasting draught of a long-familiar poison. The hated face leaning close to his, the all-too familiar madness gleaming in his eyes. But the Sherriff was not mad; Guy knew this, just as he knew that power was the only thing worth pursuing, that loyalty had to be bought, and the only language men understood was fear. He had learned these lessons the hard way, dragging himself through an existence of petty cruelties and brutal treacheries, denied a life of wealth and status that should have been his by birthright. Instead, he had had to pave a way for himself with his sword, the marks of Vaisey's fists a reminder of every failure and a fuel to the burning flame of resentment and ambition that warmed him through the comfortless nights. Power was his sole province now.

The silence of the dim passageway closed in around him as his long-limbed figure moved with grim purpose towards her chamber. Guy wondered with a momentary flash of anger how many times Marian must have done this – crept along secret passageways by torchlight, spying on him even as he grew more to trust her, passing on information to his sworn enemy. Even Hood's death could not lessen the pain of knowing she had been in league with him this entire time, had perhaps even –

_No. I will not believe it._

Allan's words rose, unbidden, to his mind. _Even if they were… he's finished now._

Hood might be dead, but it was not at his hand. That moment of reckoning had been denied him; he had not known that last, final triumph of looking into his enemy's defeated eyes before striking the blow that would end him forever. Instead, Hood and his ragged band of traitors had been surrounded, cut down, or most likely burned to death inside that barn. Their fate was an unenviable one; Guy knew what it was to burn. He recalled even now the searing flash of white-hot agony when Vaisey had lacerated the incriminating tattoo from his skin. They kept such brands in hell, and the murky depths of Nottingham castle was as close as a man could get in this lifetime. The thought of the flames scorching the mockery from his old adversary's face, the crowing laughter turned to screams of agony filled him with a savage pleasure.

The close walls had faded to a dull grey hue in the gathering gloom, the atmosphere dry with the scent of the desert. Though less stifling than the meeting chambers, it was still too hot. Parching. Yet the heat didn't touch him. He was always cold. Left only with vivid recollections and dreams of what might have been. In that howling darkness, Guy saw again a white-veiled figure, eyes of deepest blue raised up to his _(I have done wrong. But _you_ will wash away my sins…)_

He thought of her betrayal again, and for a moment, the world turned crimson.

He had _known _there had been something. Her evasive behavior, her excursions into the forest… and then there was Allan. Allan had known, too. There was another betrayal, and Guy was incensed to realize just how much that desertion _hurt. _Allan may have been irritating, arrogant, sly-tongued, and too sure of himself by far, but he had been an ally, if only for a little while. And there had been a strange kind of solace in some companionship other than Vaisey's or the subservient guards that mindlessly followed his curt orders. But Allan had turned down that chance of power, had run, crawling away with his tail between his legs back to a dead hero and the prospect of a hanging. Well, good riddance to him. Vaisey had been right all along. There was no one else he could rely on. The emptiness of the Sherriff's cold reasoning didn't scare him because it was already inside him. His words had merely reinforced what Guy had known his entire life.

Outside her chamber, Guy tried to collect himself before pushing open the heavy, rusted door, bracing himself for the sight of her. The heat was even more intense here, despite the coolness of the desert night. The close, dusty air curled the dark hair damply around the back of his neck, dried the back of his throat. A solitary candle stood on the table; its lone flame wavered, wax sputtering in the warm draught that drifted through the open door. The moonlight streamed in through the narrow aperture, haloing her where she sat, clothed in ethereal white like a condemned martyr, troubled and silent. For a moment, Guy remained in the doorway watching her. And she was… sad. He had not seen such vulnerability on her face since the immediate aftermath of Sir Edward's death. Didn't know she had it in her. He realized with a pang that he missed her high-spirited passion. _I gave you a horse once and made you smile. _But that was another time, another country, another life. It would take more than a gift to repair everything that had been destroyed between them. There was no going back.

For years she had avoided him, never spending more time in his company than duty and courtesy demanded, but they had come too far for that now, hopelessly entwined in a web of betrayal, deception, danger and longing. Yet now… there was a coldness and a distance between them that had not been present even in the early days of their acquaintance when she had disdainfully considered him nothing more than Vaisey's henchman. He could sense how fully she despised him and seethed over the fact. What right had _she _– after the betrayals, the lies – to condemn him? His hand tightened its grip on the plate he held. Rage was boiling in his blood, startling him with its intensity. Was he really so angered, so full of hate?

Marian stood up on his entering, the translucent folds of her white gown whispering around her legs at the movement. Her pale skin had tanned under the scorching heat of the desert sun, her dark hair crowned with streaks of burnished gold. Blue eyes blazed in vivid contrast as she faced him with an expression of defiant resolution. Yet he saw the tension in her set shoulders, the wariness in her gaze like a hunted animal poised to flee from his pursuing steps and endlessly craving touches. But she would never run, not even to save her own life. No matter how many times he thought he finally had her in his power, she managed to elude him. Seemingly unconscious of her title and status, yet she wielded it effortlessly as weapon, and he always felt it as a barrier between them, a cruel reproach to himself. More than anything, he wanted such power, would _bleed _for such power, and had committed his life to pursuing it with a single-minded ferocity. And Marian had possessed it from birth, wore those graces so naturally that even now, when imprisoned and on the brink of death, he could not master her. It infuriated and enticed him. Draped in white and stripped of her costly garments, her wealth and her freedom, she should have lost her pride, but she faced him as willful and stubborn as ever. Still playing coy, and still dangerous. Even now, enchained, bare and vulnerable, she could utterly destroy him.

He slammed the dish ungently against the table, the action sending up a faint cloud of the infernal dust that always permeated this place.

"Eat," he said curtly.

She didn't even look at the proffered dish. "I'm not hungry."

He exhaled with annoyance. "I said eat."

"I _said _I'm not hungry."

Guy had determined not to be provoked by her but then, he had never been able to be rational where she was concerned. Already he felt his blood rising at the weary indifference in her tone. Leather fingers kneaded the tense lines of his brow. "Why must you still insist on this willfulness? Are you _trying _to get yourself killed, Marian?"

She raised her head, blue eyes narrowed with sullen defiance. "I thought you didn't care."

The words stung like a lash. Even now, she was mocking him. The raw laughter caught in his throat. Care? He had always cared, God help him, and for what? He could never forgive her betrayal, a hurt as intense as the sensation of several inches of cold steel sliding into his flesh, the pain flowing red through his veins. His heart had turned black when she betrayed him, and never would he allow himself to fall prey to sentiment again. Not even when he ached for love and light and acceptance. Not even though without her, he was hollow and aching. Guy hardened his heart, summoning every bitter and resentful emotion he had felt towards her. If he could not have love, he must settle for hatred in its stead. There was no place in his heart for remorse. She had forced him to this cruelty.

"Do what you like," he said harshly. "It's nothing to me."

He allowed himself to feel a moment of vicious satisfaction when her face fell.

"Guy, wait -"

He drew out the moment for as long as possible, before turning to face her with an air of cold indifference. But his hands were shaking damnably, the pulse beating hard in his throat. A trembling flicker of hope rising within him that he desperately tried to suppress –

"What?"

"Do things really have to be this way between us?"

His gloved fingers clenched. Somewhere, he suspected grimly, Vaisey was laughing right now. "You have brought this upon yourself, Marian."

"We were friends, Guy," she said, and he thought he could discern genuine regret in her voice. She sounded desperately sincere… _No. It is a lie. Everything she has told you has been a lie. _She had learnt the art of deception well, hiding behind her father and the mask of the Night Watchman all the while maintaining an aspect of perfect innocence as she plunged the knife in deeper...

Guy made no attempt to conceal the disgusted scowl that marred his features. "Really? Was it _friendship _you felt when you were working against me all this time? Was it friendship you felt when you were consorting with Hood, while I -"

"You lied to me too, Guy."

"No." Fury turned the edges of his vision glowing red. He was seething with the same depths of anger he had felt in that evil moment when he had unmasked her as the Night Watchman. So _close _to losing control. He let his frustrated voice unleash all his hatred into the close, suffocating air. "Never about what I felt. You knew what I was –"

"And you knew what I was. You knew that I could never let the people of Nottingham suffer and starve – which is what will happen so long as the Sherriff is allowed to rule unchecked!"

Of course, he reflected bitterly, her compassion again. Her compassion for everyone except _him. _He was in no mood to indulge her sentimentality towards people he neither knew nor cared about. What about _his _suffering? Did the knowledge of what she had put him through mean nothing to her? He shook his head in irritated dismissal as she continued insistently, "You have the power to stop him, if you wanted to -"

"And why would I do that?"

She turned swiftly, her figure lithe beneath the white gown. Her legs, beneath the loose, gauzy trousers, were slim and bare, her slippered feet touching the dusty ground lightly as she moved towards him with a firm, graceful ease in spite of the restrictive chains that bound her. It struck him once again as remarkable that he had not unmasked her identity as the Night Watchman earlier. It had been there before him the whole time. If he had not been such a fool, so willfully _blind -_

"Because you despise him. And more than that, I know you want to do what is right."

He didn't know what he wanted anymore. The breath was caught painfully between his lungs and his throat. The implication behind her seemingly noble words was awful, _unthinkable -_

"You're asking me to kill the Sherriff." It was not a question. He could not suppress a shudder that ran right through the very core of his being. The very words were tantamount to treason, a horror, an aberration.

"Guy –"

"No…" he said, "No…"

Guy felt himself stumble back unsteadily, a gloved hand mindlessly grasping for the wall, for some hold to his sanity. He could not listen to this…

_Lepers, Gisborne… All those times she was smiling at you, but really she was _laughing_ at you… Grow up, Gisborne… __You sit at the right hand of the father. You will share in the fruits of our labour…_

Vaisey… Vaisey who had promised him everything, who had made his life a living hell, but all with the guarantee that it would be worth it in the end… Vaisey who had taken him in as a father would, and abused him with harsh words and violent blows. Who had bullied and bruised and cursed him, yet had given him all of Locksley and the title of Master at Arms. His sole means to gaining status and standing. And he _would _have it. He would kill a king for it. He was set on the one thing in the whole world that could complete him, that could take away this furious sense of rage and powerlessness, that could make every vile, despicable act he had ever done worth it, have _meant _something… and now Marian, with her entreating eyes and frustrating principles, wanted to take that all away from him? She wanted him to take that from _himself?_

He stared at her, uncomprehending. How could she act as she did… think and believe what she did…? She did not understand what it was to have nothing and no one; no position or status, to have to buy loyalty and kill to gain every small measure of power. But Vaisey knew. Vaisey understood. And even after every humiliating defeat, every thwarted plan and failed enterprise, Vaisey still kept him at his side, offering him everything even when he did not deserve it.

_I owe him everything. I despise him. I love him, and I hate him, and I need him._

Guy dragged a breath, brief and raw with terror, the thought, _I could never do this, _pounding through his heat-bewildered mind. The hours of confinement, the close pressure of the room, the searing awareness of her maddening _presence _and her terrible words were too much for him to take. How had they ended up here? How had she brought him to this point? She really did think him nothing more than a murderer. But Vaisey was more than a man. He was untouchable. Guy could no more kill him than he could destroy his own ambition. Both were hopelessly intertwined; it was impossible to have one without the other. He needed power, so Vaisey _must _live. It was a simple truth, and one he had built the entire foundation of his existence on. To suggest anything else... She was mad. Mad to think that for one _second _he would even consider this -

The sweet, acrid smell of incense clouded the air before him and her white figure was the one thing of clarity he could discern through the haze. She was speaking again, though it took him a moment to understand the words.

"Listen to me. I will vouch for you to the king. And you _will _be rewarded."

Guy allowed himself a bitter smile, the thin line breaking the cold mask of his face. "The king will not reward me."

"And you think the Sherriff will? I have _seen_ the way he treats you, Guy - he cares for no one but himself."

"No," he said grimly. "The Sherriff has been loyal to me, in his way." With a flash of malevolence, he could not resist adding, "_He _never betrayed me."

He heard the clanking of metal as she threw out her chained hands in frustration. "Why do you always make allowances for him? He is _using _you – he does not care if you live or die! I know the king will hear you fairly - at the very least he will grant you a pardon."

"I'm not looking for absolution, Marian." No one could cleanse him of his sins. Not King Richard. Not God. Not her, anymore. He had done terrible things. Unforgiveable. There was blood on his hands and cruelty in his heart, and he had gone too far down this path to turn aside now. He was close now, so close to achieving everything he had hungered for these long years. The taunts and blows he had endured, all for this one final act that would set him out of Vaisey's reach forever, give him wealth and power beyond imagining. _A god amongst men._

He would be _damned _if he was going to risk renouncing that again. If he lost that, then he had nothing. The thought turned him cold all over.

"Then…" Marian's voice faltered. "What are you looking for?"

"Power," he said.

He could not meet that pained, betrayed look, the devastating expression in her eyes. Not anger, worse than anger. Disappointment. Her wounded gaze burned his soul. "I thought you had a heart once, Guy."

The blood was beating in his ears, feeding the rage that pulsed thickly through his veins. After everything - how could she? How _dare _she? "What do you know of my heart?" he returned, low and furious. "The things I endured, for _you, _while you were betraying me all this time -"

He saw it in her face at last - fear. But still she defied him, constantly pushing him to edge of his sanity. There was a hint of hysteria in her voice as she exclaimed vehemently, "I didn't _want _to betray you! If there had been any other way -"

"Tell me something. Why the pretense? Why the show of friendship? Why did you not just hate me and have done with it?"

She shook her head, dark hair falling over her shoulders at the frantic movement. "I never hated you, Guy -"

"Then why did you torment me by making me fall in love with you?" he cried.

His words echoed off the walls in the small, concave space, making her flinch. In the stifling heat, the hair clung to her neck in smooth dark tendrils. For a moment, Guy stared at the curve of her throat, achingly tender and vulnerable. How many nights had he imagined pressing his lips against that soft flesh, entwining his hands in the waves of her scented hair as she welcomed his touch… His gloved hands clenched. Never, never, never. It had been nothing but a fool's dream born of loneliness and lies.

Guy turned away, a leathern fist pressed against the tense lines of his mouth. He released a shuddering sigh, trying with an immense effort to master himself. His heavy, smoldering eyes met her wide troubled ones. "I was in love with you, Marian," he muttered hoarsely. He closed his eyes, cursing himself for his despicable weakness. "I'm _still _in love with you."

Her form was emblazoned behind the lids of his very eyes. She had made him weak and pitiful when once he had been independent and strong. Ruthless. But all his hopes concerning her were lost. Yet still she invaded even the darkest, murkiest depths of his mind, refusing to be banished from his thoughts. He had wanted to win her naturally, but the only way he could ever have her now was through force. And that he was not prepared to do. Not if there was still some hope – however small – of her coming to him willingly. He would hate to destroy that unconscious grace she possessed by employing coarse brutality as a means of possessing her. The very thought revolted him.

Guy wanted to shake her, bruise her, punish her for everything she had ever done to him. He wanted to press her close to his heart, cherish her, tell her that nothing would ever hurt her again. In the course of a year, she had destroyed his existence utterly. She had shattered his cherished illusions, crushed his hopes and turned his world upside down. There was nothing for him to do but love her. _All _of her. He had seen her fight, seen her cry, seen her love. Passion, passion, passion. Always following her heart, never renouncing her independent spirit. Everything she did fuelled his desire for her. Even with the chains around her wrists, she would not admit defeat. He realized he didn't _want _her meek and pliant, but as she was now, proud and unflinching and always defying him. The bravest woman he had ever known.

Beautiful. Compassionate. Indomitable.

_I may not be worthy of you. But I _will _have you._

Guy drew a ragged breath. She smelt of linen and home and sweet summer rain. It made him ache. He recalled sunlight and a chapel and her figure veiled in white. The memories of a lifetime ago. A path not taken, a redemption never granted. His love for her, always blazing desire with devastating anguish when he was reminded of her purity, her conviction and goodness against his own black sins. Once, he had thought she could make him anew. Beautiful, clean. Whole. But nothing was left except hatred and fear and malice, twisted ambition and thwarted desires. All his hopes withered to ash. He looked entreatingly at her, eyes dried by the burning heat.

"I have to know," he demanded roughly, "Was there ever a chance between us? Or was it all a lie?"

"Guy -"

No more evasions, no more distractions. He had to know. He _had _to. "Was there ever a moment - a _second_ - when you might have -" His voice shuddered and broke. He could not go on. Every muscle in his body tensed, his entire fate waiting on her next words.

Marian was staring down at her bound hands, loose hair tumbling in soft waves over her shoulders. Her voice was low, halting, with none of the calm control he normally heard whenever she spoke to him. "When you came back to the castle, and were prepared to defend Nottingham against Prince John's army… I used to think you cared for nothing, for no one beyond yourself. But you came back. And it made me see a side to you… a _better _side."

Perhaps it was just another lie. Guy found he didn't care anymore. Her words were soothing balm to his wounded pride and crippling self-loathing, telling him what he both dreaded and desperately wanted to hear, gradually breaking through the defenses he had so forcefully tried to maintain around her these past weeks…

"And I know that side of you still exists in there, somewhere. Guy, please –"

She laid her slender hands on his arm. Guy's blood jumped at the touch. He remembered the first time he had felt the tentative touch of those white, slender fingers in a rain-drizzled courtyard, when she had urged him to protect Lambert (another betrayer, another false friend). But she was here, truly here, no longer merely ignoring or despising him. It was closer than they had been in weeks, months even, and he was painfully conscious of the warmth of her skin even through the barrier of leather between them, the smell of her cotton shift fresh and sweet beneath the tinge of incense. The candlelight caught the threads of gold in her dark hair. The soft curve of her cheek, the tender fullness of her lips a breath away from his own. He could feel the slight tremor that passed through her, quickly suppressed, as she tried to maintain her former aloofness. The low, smoldering embers within him burst into flames. God, even after everything, he still wanted her. Wanted to awaken that fire in her, feel her burn for him. Cry out for him. If given the chance, he could stir passion in her that would be so much sweeter, so much more delectable than her first taste of love. He had imagined with painful intensity the feel of her in his arms, her softness molding into his hardness, bringing her hips down on him… oh, he had _burned _in those long hours of stifling darkness. Having her so close yet so unreachable. He throbbed and thirsted for her. This fire burned deep within him and she alone could quench it.

"You don't know what you ask of me," he muttered gruffly. "You are asking me to betray a man I have sworn loyalty to, who has protected me and rewarded me in ways you cannot imagine; you're asking me to-"

Her blue eyes opened, wide and luminous, an urgency and passion in her voice he wondered whether was only due to self-preservation, or –

"I am asking you - for _once - _to do the right thing. This is your chance - your _last _chance."

Guy felt himself strangely defenceless in the face of her strength, her firm conviction in herself, her morals and her rights. Almost against his will, he began to imagine an existence without Vaisey, his captor and protector. Breaking out of the cage that had shackled him for uncounted years and being free of him forever, never again having to be humiliated and mastered. The thought of a king's pardon and reward, owning lands and an estate in his own right that was not stained with innocent blood, returning to a place he could call _home,_ with Marian's smile and arms to greet him…

"I _know _you don't want to do this. Please, Guy. Save the king. Save England." Her eyes were enormous. He saw the unspoken plea in those shining depths. _Save me._

Even now, doubt, and the conviction of his own unworthiness made him hesitate. How could he believe that this was anything more than manipulation on her part? She was no longer the person he had once thought her. His love should have ended the moment he discovered who she truly was. But _still _he wanted her. Not for whatever dim, hazy reasons he had first been drawn to her as a suitor seeking her hand – her noble status or beauty or spirit or compassion – but because she was _Marian. _Flawed and fearless and complicated beyond understanding. And he wasn't willing to give her up. Not now. Not ever. Guy closed his eyes against the throbbing in his temples, agonized in conflict.

He could gain the world and lose his soul. Kill a king and win everything. Or kill the Sherriff and win… what? He would be merely trading one master for another. Richard's cage might be more gilded, but it would still be a prison. And under the king, how long would it take him to gain even a fraction of the authority that he held while Vaisey remained alive and well? Every day had been a bitter struggle in his clawing ascent to power, and he was not about to relinquish it. One more death and it would be finished. But whose? Could the subject kill the king? Could the son kill the father?

Either way, before this night was over, someone was going to die.

He wanted to shout and struggle against this ultimatum she was forcing upon him. How could she ask this of him, demand that he make such a choice? He stood, torn, sweat trickling down his brow, his throat burning, searingly aware of her warm hand curled around his shoulder… he shuddered with longing. _No, never, never again. Please never again_…

Guy turned on her aggressively, as savage and snarling as a dog let loose, fighting down the frustrated urge to shake her into silence, to stop her saying these terrible things. "Why do you do this, Marian? Why do you always make me have to choose?"

"It's not about _choosing – _it's about doing what is right, being the man I _know _you are."

She was trembling with passion and conviction, her face upturned, her jaw resolute. Almost unbearably beautiful in the moonlight that poured in through the high window. Guy's mind flashed back to the moment he had burst into Nottingham castle, blazing with love and death and glory, prepared to die at her side, for the first time in his life a hero in the hearts and minds of the people. The memory of her face, shining with gratitude, lit a fire in his chest. It had been the most glorious moment of his doomed, empty existence; the closest thing to love he had ever seen in her eyes. She had seen something in him that no one else had. And if there was even the _faintest _chance of her glimpsing that once more, of being that man again –

A king's pardon, the faint chance of a reward. A hollow price for renouncing everything he had worked for these long years. It was not enough. Softly now, his voice low and intent, he asked grimly, "What could I gain from helping the king that I could not get from the Sherriff?"

Celestial blue eyes met his.

"Me," she said.

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><p><strong>The second (and most likely, final) part to be coming soon. In the meantime, show Guy some love by reviewing. <strong>


	2. Part II: Marian

**Summary: **"Kill the Sherriff. Save the king. And I will give you what you want." Guy stared into her tense face a long moment, black brows narrowed together, his eyes gleaming. "Prove it," he said.

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><p><strong>RULES OF ENGAGEMENT<strong>

**PART II –- MARIAN**

'_**No weapons… no friends… no hope. Take all that away… and what's left?'**_

'_**Me.' **_

The single word hung, heavy and potent in the space between them.

Marian was agonizingly aware of the heavy, suffocating silence, the drift of dust across the worn stone, the dim flicker of the solitary candle and the faint hiss of wax on the wooden table. That silence thickened the air until she could not breathe, constricted her chest, made everything heightened – intense – magnified.

It was the loudest silence she had ever known.

Guy remained still, deadly still, shrouded in shadow. For a moment, a wild, irrational hope made her wonder whether he hadn't heard her. His pale face was inscrutable. But then his hard jaw tightened. She heard the breath escape between his teeth in a low hiss. Her heart pounded in the pervasive quiet. She held herself deliberately still, every muscle in her body pulled taut to a painful tension.

It seemed an eternity passed before he finally spoke.

"What?" His voice was very low.

Marian lifted her chin and swallowed hard, praying for the courage to carry this through. Robin was dead and her hopes had ended with him. At the very least, she would not allow his death to be for nothing. He was at rest now, gone out in a blaze of glory _(recklessness) _and it had all fallen on her – the weight of the cruelties, the tragedies, the injustices that poisoned the nation. What was the sacrifice of personal feelings in the face of all that? The cause lived on, and she must fight as she had fought before Robin came back into her life - alone. Back when she had been the aloof lady of Knighton Hall, always collected and quietly disdainful, and not governed by outbursts of impulsive emotion that led to those she loved dying-

"Do this for me, and I promise I will be yours."

The silence sharpened, if that were possible. Then Guy smiled, slow and dangerous. Steel-bright, all sharp edges and aggression. "You're lying."

"I give you my word."

She swallowed. They both knew how little her promises meant now. The unspoken accusation struck her like a knife to the heart, she who had always prided herself on her morals, her strong sense of right and ideals of justice. Yes, she had deceived him, but only because she _had _to. She had never counted on things going so far. She had never counted on him falling in love with her.

Guy's low voice was deceptively smooth. "You agreed to give me your hand once before, to save yourself. What makes you think I'll have you a second time?"

Marian forced herself to meet his gaze, hopelessly bracing herself for the words she had prayed she would never have to utter. She wondered how long the thought had been at the back of her mind, how long she had denied to herself that, one day, it might come to this. Her stubborn jaw tightened and eyes turned sapphire. "I said nothing about marriage."

A wild, hungry light flared in his eyes. Swiftly, he came towards her in a movement of threatening grace, and she realized with a momentary flicker of fear how vulnerable she was against him like this, how powerless. But she was too exhausted, too scared, too hopeless to make a show of resistance. And it seemed a futile effort. Something about this man had always frightened her; his coldness, his violence. His passion. There was a darkness lurking within him that she loathed and recoiled from with her entire being. She could never forget that he was the enemy, acting against her interests and everything she was fighting for. And yet… she had once thought of him as a friend, had felt _something_ for him in her way, and owed him her life on more than one occasion. She had _cared _for him, seen – or believed she had seen – buried qualities deep inside that could make him noble, beautiful even. Was it really possible that she could have been so wrong?

He was standing directly in front of her and Marian looked up, half-unwillingly into his face that had become all too familiar to her now. His features were squarely cut, his nose strong and defined. The shadow of stubble darkening his jaw. She could see the predator's gaze in his cold eyes. Ice lit by flames. It was a handsome face, and at times, a hateful one. And the thought of it being in her future forever…

The last time she had almost been his, it had been the day of her wedding, and she had felt as though she were walking to her death. But there had been Robin then, and now he was lost to her forever. Marian swallowed down the sudden fierce, burning pain in her throat, refusing to think of Robin. She was sacrificing her virtue, her pride and her freedom. But she could endure it. She thought of the late afternoon sun slanting golden through the emerald leaves of Sherwood Forest; she thought of Robin, merry-eyed and daring, who had given his life for what he believed in; she thought of the gratitude on the faces of a starving family when she gave them food. Yes, worth it. Worth it all.

She drew a sharp breath as gloved fingers gripped her chained wrists. Goosebumps skittered across her skin at the touch, the metal cutting painful lacerations into the tender flesh. Yet she did not flinch; she would not give him the satisfaction. Guy held her hands hard between his, leaning towards her in that old familiar, too-close way.

"_You _would offer yourself willingly, to me?"

"Yes," she said, thanking God her father was dead and couldn't see her now.

A dark, deep pause filled the air. He was silent a moment, considering her with narrow-eyed suspicion, and she recalled the words he once said to her, half in jest, but she had sensed the seriousness behind the amused tone. _You must be the least easily-won woman in England. _Well, now he had won her, and she could not for the life of her tell whether he was satisfied or repelled by the victory. Humiliated colour burned high in her cheeks. Not even when dressed in gaudy finery and flaunted before Count Friedrich had she known such depths of degradation. She tried to slip her hands from his, but his grip tightened and drew her closer. The expression of raw wanting she saw in his face shook her to the core. "You're playing a dangerous game, Marian," he breathed, velvet against her throat, lips grazing bare flesh that prickled under the unsettling warmth. There was a disorienting kind of solace in the contact; she had been so alone, so dry and empty inside, that this was closest she had come to tenderness in longer than she could remember. She found herself unnerved by the ache his proximity awoke within her – it was something too close to weakness.

Guy released her hands and drew back slightly. Marian could feel the sensitive skin chafe against the handcuffs and winced slightly. But she felt a measure of her old courage and strength returning, burning away the horrible sense of grief and powerlessness that had been weighing down upon her for so many days. No, she was not defeated yet. And now she had said the words, a curious sense of relief and clarity flooded her being; it was all so startlingly _simple_. The blood pounded through her veins with renewed vigor, filling her with warmth and energy; for the first time in weeks she felt _alive_. Her sword-hand tingled, frustratingly shackled. The rebellious spirit for danger and adventure had awoken within her and the sudden thirst to do something reckless and impulsive was almost overwhelming – the same mad thrill she had felt the night she had broken into his house as the Night Watchman. She had thrown down the gauntlet; it was for him to decide whether he would accept the challenge. Her own safety meant little now. Guy still stood over her, menacing and aloof, but she regarded his threatening posture with defiance dancing in her eyes. She could have laughed in his face; let him do what he would. Whether he proved to be an ally or an enemy, she would see this through to the end, and if it killed her, well then – _then I would see Robin again._

She heard the creak of leather as his gloved fists clenched at his sides. "Why should I believe you?"

He no longer trusted her, and Marian was startled to discover how much the knowledge _hurt_ – to see that his admiration and implicit belief in her was gone. She wondered if this was how he regarded her now; as someone who had mastered and used him with ruthless grace, caring nothing for the man she was destroying to further her cause. The thought filled her with a hollow, sickening feeling. She had never realized before just how much his high opinion meant to her. She was not the only one who had cause to be disappointed. Neither of them had turned out to be the person the other thought. There was a strange irony in the realization. It was enough to make her _(for once) _speak the truth without hesitation.

"My father is dead," she said slowly. "I have no one. I have nothing left to lose."

Guy's hooded gaze raked over her. "I wouldn't be so sure," he murmured. His smile was horrible.

Marian could not suppress a shudder as she watched him, wrapped in the gloom of some sinister emotion. His hardened face was suspicious, an intimidating, dark look in his eyes. And something else that flickered beneath the veneer of mistrust. Something like desperation.

"And what about Hood?" he demanded suddenly.

"Robin Hood is dead," she said flatly, and the words were like daggers in her throat. "He means nothing to me."

An expression of almost ferocious cruelty flashed across his hard features. Marian was suddenly taken back to the night he had come armed with the Sherriff's men, drunk on power and blood, his dark figure wreathed in the infernal reflection of Knighton hall in flames as he had her at his feet, begging for mercy. She had almost forgotten for a time, but his recent actions had called to light every contemptible thing he had ever done, exposed all the black, ugly places in his soul. She was forced to remember all the cruel, hateful deeds he had committed; striking her father, burning down Knighton Hall, forcing her into a betrothal under duress. Could this be the same man who had stood as a shield between her and Vaisey's wrath for so long and who had been prepared to die defending Nottingham against the armies of Prince John? But he had chosen Vaisey in the end and betrayed her trust in him. Her faith in his potential for goodness was faltering, and she feared that he truly was lost in his ambition, his ruthless hunger for power that rendered him a willing slave to the Sherriff's schemes. The old frustration burned within her. How was it that this man, so stern and commanding, could be held so entirely in Vaisey's clutches? Why did he shackle himself to a madman? What strange power did the Sherriff hold over him?

Marian watched, tense and wary, as he began to pace the small room, circling her like a hungry wolf, a lean, caged animal. Once, she might have played coy and laughed off the threat with light and teasing words, but things had changed, and she was no longer sure what rules they playing by. The last time she had underestimated him, it had cost her a home and her freedom. She would not make the same mistake again. There was a cold, deadly aura she had not sensed from him since that evil day he had discovered her identity as the Night Watchman. His gaze, sullen and brooding, never left her guarded face.

"What are you playing at, Marian? What is it you want?"

"Peace. Justice. To protect the King and save England."

Guy's face darkened, thin lips pressed into a rigid line. "How very noble," he sneered, an unmistakable bitterness clouding his tone.

Marian realized then that she had said the wrong thing. She should have said, _For things to be as they were _or _To know that I was right about you being a good man._ That unspoken implication had always been at the core of their past interactions, but she was weary of this deception. But still, it was another miscalculation; one in a long line of the careless, foolish, desperate mistakes she had been making recently. Ever since her father died, her courage had turned to frenzy as she struggled to keep fighting in a world that was falling apart. Every day of her life was a battle. But of all the rash, dangerous things she had done, this was the worst. She cringed at the thought of the maniacal glee on Vaisey's sadistic face if he ever discovered the extent to which she was willing to sacrifice herself for the cause. Her pride was all she had left and now she was about to give that up, too. She had once been the lady of Knighton, the Night Watchman, and it had all been taken from her. What else did she have?

_Robin wouldn't want this, _cautioned a voice in the back of her mind, but she stubbornly ignored it_. Robin would want you to survive – no matter what the cost. Even if it means accepting Guy._

She had come close, once. More than once. The first time he had proposed to her, she had despised and feared him, but the second? That was more complicated. She could not fully shake off the memory of his face, taut with defiance and hunger and aching desperation. _Marry me now, and make it the last thing we do. Let's steal that from them at least. _But that was when she had thought – when she had _believed _– he had a noble heart beneath the untouchable exterior of steel and leather.

And now?

He moved deliberately towards her, his shadowed figure seeming to grow larger in the confined space. Standing squarely in front of her, towering over her form. She could feel the warmth of his body, the closeness of leather and musk clouding her senses. Strong scents. Male. A bead of perspiration ran slowly down his exposed throat and disappeared beneath the line of his collar. His lowered face was thrown into deep shade; it was impossible to discern his expression.

"What makes you think I still want you?"

So, he was going to be stubborn and unrelenting. Or perhaps he really was speaking the truth, and all that mattered to him now was power and position. Once, she might have known, but now she wondered whether she had really known him at all. His face gave away nothing. His expression was unfriendly and angry. Menacing.

"If you don't," Marian said, making her last, desperate gamble, the heart beating wildly in her temples, "Then tell the Sherriff. Have me punished. Free yourself of me at last."

Something dark and primitive flickered in his eyes. "Have you punished?" he murmured. Close. Warm. "How would I punish you, I wonder?"

"Guy -"

He was toying with her. Another power struggle. But this was not Nottingham Castle and he could no longer influence her by wielding her father's life over her. It was only her own neck she had to fear for, and she had been toying on the brink of death for weeks now. If she had to stake her survival on someone, Guy seemed her best chance. He was her only hope. _England's _only hope. _The cause, _she reminded herself. _Always the cause._

She reached out her chained hands in appeal, grasping his arm. The leather was warm, and smooth with wear beneath her fingers. She felt him tense sharply at the unexpected touch, startled – almost _scared_. The sudden movement reminded her of a wild animal, wary of some new threat, and the instinctive reaction gave her the conviction to go on. No, Guy was not lost to her yet.

"Kill the Sherriff. Save the king. And I will give you what you want."

Guy stared down into her tense face a long moment, black brows narrowed together, his eyes gleaming. "Prove it," he said suddenly.

She should have expected this, but something – guilt, shame, the memory of Robin - held her back. But still she felt her blood rise at the provocation, and it was a welcome flare of passion through the cold apathy of despair that had been haunting her for so long. Her proud courage had never faltered before, and it did not fail her now. She had right upon her side, faith in God, in England, and in the memory of Robin whom she had loved; and the Sherriff was a madman trapped in his own hell, loathed even by his most loyal servant. Marian smiled then, having made her decision. Her conscience was clear. She knew what she had to do.

She moved towards Guy, her bound hands seeming strangely small and delicate next to the hardness of his features. He was close enough that she could see a faint scar beneath his left eye, the mark left by her wedding ring. But then, he had scarred her too, ran his curved dagger through her side; only he hadn't known it was her, while she had no such excuse… She was trembling slightly as she stood on her toes – he was much taller than her – and pressed her lips to his hard cheek. Guy remained rigid and unmoving; his flesh was like cold stone to the touch, but she would not believe him so indifferent. He _had _to want this, after everything he had claimed to feel, everything he had once said -

Marian drew away and looked up at him, her eyes bright.

"Now do you believe me?"

"It's a start." His voice was rough. Those rasping tones betrayed him.

The heat was impossibly stifling. She could feel the warm moisture clinging to her brow, pooling at the nape of her neck and behind her knees, but her mouth was drier than desert sands. Rough cotton at her waist, and the press of leather. His presence overbearing and suffocating. Two points of light danced in a sea of diamond blue. His icy gaze lingered on her lips. Marian suddenly recalled the hard, insistent pressure of his mouth against hers, and a shiver ran through her body. He must have noticed it, for a strange expression of satisfaction curved his thin mouth.

Marian lowered her eyes, hating the fact that she was resorting to begging. "Untie my hands," she said calmly, as though it were an order, not a request.

His expression was suddenly wolfish, eyes gleaming with a deadly sort of amusement. "Why would I do that?"

"Guy." Her voice had recovered its former steel.

Slowly, he pulled off his gloves, carelessly letting them fall to the floor. Her breathing quickened. There was something too familiar, too intimate in the action. Hopelessly, she braced herself for the touch of those large, brutal fingers. The pulse thudded hotly in her upturned wrists as he set to work unfastening the shackles with a strange awkwardness, light blue eyes narrowed, his mouth pressed tight with concentration, and a part of her scornfully wondered whether he was deliberately prolonging the moment of contact, despising herself for the trembling in her hands. It was fear or anger that made her shake like this, she who was so normally in control over her emotions. But she had been living this strained existence for weeks now, knowing that any moment could be her last, the weight of Robin's death, Vaisey's sadistic whims and Guy's wrath hovering over her. Was it any wonder she had reached the threshold of her self-control?

"There."

She breathed a relieved sigh as the heavy irons fell away, rubbing at her sore wrists that felt curiously light without the restrictive weight of the chains binding them. "Thank you," she stammered back, and jumped, nerve-edged and agitated, as his hand, large and heavy, pressed against her upturned jaw. Warm (too warm). She had always thought his skin would be cold, to match his cold heart, but every touch burned. So different from those former clumsy attempts at courtship that she had so easily been able to dismiss with contempt and the faintest stirrings of pity. Calloused fingers brushed her temple, her cheek, her throat - he could crush the life from her and she would be powerless to stop him. But instead, the grim set of his mouth softened slightly, losing its hard, cruel lines. His heavy-lidded gaze was entranced, almost mesmerized. She swallowed, wondering uneasily what it was about her that made him so relentless in his pursuit of her, made him so mad with craving.

"Marian…" He paused, the single word echoing softly in the small room.

Suddenly, she was back in Locksley Manor, the warmth of firelight flickering over bare skin, achingly close, as he leaned over her half-clothed, tenderly tracing the line of her upturned jaw. It was the first time she had seen him stripped of the leather armour that made him so aloof and untouchable, seen the man through the layers of cruelty and cynicism that cloaked him so effectively in the harsh light of day. That night she had seen him, not as the Sherriff's snarling dog, but as a man genuinely hurt by her actions. He had deliberately held himself away from her, cold and distrusting, yet hopeful still, the barely-leashed passion simmering in the depths of his intent gaze. The slow brush of fingers warm on her skin. _This isn't about friendship._

It had never been about friendship. She realized that now. Whatever she had felt towards Guy – loathing, affection, disgust, pity, frustration (and perhaps, buried somewhere in there, a hint of longing?) – _friendship _had never been a part of it. Even when living in the forest, fighting the Sherriff on Robin's terms, something had been missing. There had been an emptiness, a lack, a sense of… incompletion (_boredom?)_. Never fulfilling that restless craving for freedom and danger. She had known, deep down, that it was because her fight had never been with Vaisey. That was Robin's battle. For her, it had always been Guy. That was what had brought her back to Nottingham Castle, though she would never admit it, not even to herself. Neither one of them had been able to leave in the end, not even when staying meant almost certain death. What strange influence did he hold over her that made her unable to pull away? He had insinuated himself fully into every corner of her existence. It was the way he put her in chains, then was the one to set her free; he would stab her with a poisoned dagger and be the one to save her from hanging. The way he told her the things she desperately wanted and didn't want to hear... _there is another side to me… you don't know me as well as you think…_

Her gaze fell on his mouth. A vivid reminder of the taste of him she remembered far too well; leather, smoke and old wine. Marian inhaled sharply, the dust dry in her mouth. She did not know how much betrayed itself in her face, but either way, Guy took her hand enfolded within his own much larger one and held it against the sharp plain of his cheek, the texture of his skin rough against her palm. A shuddering sigh escaped his lips as he closed his eyes. She had expected coarse violence; this tender and lover-like gesture startled her. She could feel the shaking in his fingers, the conscious effort to be gentle. He was more afraid than she was. For a moment, a surge of intense pity overcame her. If the mere act of touching her affected him so strongly, he must truly have been suffering. A spear of guilt pierced through her heart. Would she ever understand this strange, bitter man? What inner world of pain and rage and love lurked beneath that cruel and violent exterior?

His breath was warm against her cheek. Then his eyes hardened again, like diamonds.

"I warn you, Marian…" he said in low voice, "Do not take me for a fool again. I'll not be humiliated a second time."

An intuitive corner of her mind protested that this was wrong – a lingering cord that bound her to Robin (_now until always) _– but Robin was dead. Robin was gone. Robin was -

Breath escaped her lips in a sharp gasp as Guy caught her in a half-painful hold. Combat-roughened hands gripping her shoulders. Heavy, strong hands. She could feel the possessiveness in his clenched muscles, the tightening of his jaw. She had never seen anyone so close to losing control. He was gazing at her with a glazed, desperate sort of hunger, a furious intensity blazing in his steel-coloured eyes. "I knew you would come to me," he whispered harshly, a hot exhalation against her skin. "I knew it. The only thing that has ever been real is you and me…"

She wondered how he could still believe this, even now. The thought of surrendering to this large, ruthless man was a terrifying one, and strangely electrifying. She had never known what it was to be needed so intensely, not even by Robin, whose passionate devotion to the cause often overrode his displays of affection towards her. A tang of metal hit her mouth and she realized she had bitten the inside of her cheek. But she did not push him away. She _could _not. He had crawled inside her, buried himself beneath her very skin, and she had not realized until it was too late. She had gone too far down this path to back out now.

When had things become so complicated? When had she stopped being strong?

She closed her eyes and shuddered, grappling with an array of conflicting feelings. _I am doing what must be done. For Robin. For England. _

His face had lost its sneering lines and was bare and vulnerable at last, raw with emotion. Confusion. Fear. Hope. There was an almost childlike innocence and dependency in the way he was gazing at her like a man half-starved, as though he truly would die without her. The desperation of it staggered her. "I need you, Marian," he breathed hoarsely against her skin. "You alone can save me."

She was in his arms, softly, then firmly. He lowered his face to hers, a lock of coarse black hair brushing her cheek. Marian jumped, skittish as a wild colt, and could only marvel at this uncharacteristic show of nervousness. Was it really possible that she could be so strongly affected by him? Reason struggled to reassert itself in her mind. She could not _think _with him so close, looming over her, distressingly intimate -

"Guy…"

The sound of her shakily saying his name seemed to break down whatever vestiges remained of his self-control. He crushed her fingers in his, and kissed her.

Nothing like the kisses she had shared with Robin that had been sweet and ardent and tender, the confident (too confident) assurance with which he held her that always made being in his arms the safest place in the world. Even when earnest and passionate, she had always known that Robin would never hurt her, and now she was faced with no such certainty.

Instead, it hurt when Guy kissed her, his mouth furious, branding her with the taste of his fervor and desperation. As strong as a draught of heavy, drugging wine, bitter and strangely intoxicating. She could smell sweat and salt and leather, the iron studs of his jerkin pressing sharp against her chest. Hands gripping her with urgent strength and bruising need. Marian wondered dimly how long he had been holding himself back, how many times he had hovered on the brink of losing all restraint. But the bars of the cage were broken and the beast had been unleashed at last, dark and savage and ravenously hungry. A part of her wanted to push him away, let loose all her strength and years of training, free herself of his discomforting presence once and for all, but for the first time in her life every fighting instinct had fled even as her muscles tensed with stubborn resistance. Her blood thrummed as it did on the edge of combat. She was too wild, too changed to ever go home, and home to what? She had lost everything.

The close, hot darkness enfolded her like a dream. His hold was ruthless, arms too hard for tenderness. His lips, too soft for a murderer. Almost unconsciously, her mouth opened beneath his and she felt, rather than heard him groan, deep in the back of his throat. Seeking fingers ran down her back, scorching through the thin material of her gown, pushing her harder against him. Sensations – warm, strange, surging – shuddered through her. She shouldn't have been shivering – not in this heat – but her actions were beyond her control, this whole situation was beyond her control, though it was her fault they had even come to this point; she had challenged him and he had called her bluff –

When he lifted his mouth off hers, she made a short, involuntary clasping at his jacket to steady herself, aware that she was trembling violently, but this was something different to fear, deeper and more primitive. Guy drew a harsh breath, his intent gaze never leaving her, eyes blazing like a winter storm, and Marian wondered how much her appearance must betray her as she faced him, breathless and flushed and wild, dark hair falling loosely over her shoulders. Her parted lips throbbed. She drew back slightly, struggling to remain aloof, but he grappled her to him again without effort, crushing his lips to hers.

His arm was iron against the curve of her waist, cutting off her breath, pressing against her heart and lungs. A flicker of fear ran through her – fear of his strength, fear of her own uncharacteristic weakness. Throughout their encounters she had always been the one in control, always the one wielding the power, and now their roles seemed entirely reversed as she realized that this time he had her at a disadvantage. His hips pressed her into the wall, the stone rough and warm against her back. His body, hard-edged and firm, the scrape of stone on her skin. No sound but the movement of his mouth over hers, softer now, and slow, though the dizzying sensation did not leave her. Her tense limbs loosened as she felt herself sinking into the warm, leather-scented darkness.

Cautiously her hands moved; daring to touch him, the tips of her fingers gliding over the harsh lines of his face. Downwards, to the rapid throb of the pulse in his throat, and there was a dark satisfaction, half-maddening, as she knew she was the cause of it. She could feel the furious pounding of his heart against her chest, the rigid tension in every muscle, the heavy shudders passing through his large frame. All for her.

Her hands found their way to his dark hair, fingers sliding through the coarse strands, tightening until Guy groaned again into her neck, muffled, incoherent. The stubbled line of his jaw scraping her skin in a tantalizingly rough caress. Marian bit back a gasp that wasn't quite pain. The blood was burning in her veins. She was shaking, almost as much as he was, and she felt the fumbling movement of his hands as he traced the wings of her shoulder blades, the curve of her spine that arched instinctively beneath the uncertain exploration, softness yielding to hardness. His hands, though cold, burned wherever they touched her, searing through the fine cotton of her gown. It felt as though there were no barriers of clothing between his touches and her bare skin, the realization sending ripples of heat blazing through her nerves, and she found herself clinging to him, the one real and solid thing in a world that was falling away beneath her feet. Leather creased between her fingers, the firm hardness of muscle beneath. His black head bent over her throat (that arched with uncharacteristic compliance), following the smooth dip of white skin, warm, seeking lips moving downwards, towards the opening of her bodice. Strange tension tightened through her –

And suddenly, he was gone.

"I can't…" he muttered. "I can't…"

He left her wavering on the rough stone. Marian opened her eyes (when had she closed them?) His cheekbones burned high with colour, his hair hanging in dark, perspiring strands over his brow. He had stumbled a few steps back, feral and intent, breathing harshly.

"Not like this…" His voice was low and quiet, of forced control.

Marian drew an unsteady breath. Her skin was still burning; the ghost of his touches seared across her flesh, the light material clinging to her uncomfortably. Her mind could not adjust itself to the swift change of situation. What could she hope to do now? She had gambled everything and he… he…

"Marry me," he said hoarsely.

She could only stare at him, wide-eyed.

Guy fell to his knees before her, hands gripping her waist with bruising urgency. He raised his torn face to her, raw with yearning and frighteningly intense. His voice, rigid and forceful, cut through her like a sword. "I'll do it," he said roughly, "The Sherriff… all of it… marry me now, and the rest doesn't matter…"

Before she could give an answer (even _think _an answer), a flicker of movement blurred in the corner of her vision. A shadow halted in the doorway. Her eyes strained in the gloom. A male figure, lithe and light and heavily-cloaked, a strange familiarity about his mocking features… Marian felt her jaw drop. Allan.

Over Guy's shoulder, she read the unspoken message in his eyes even before she saw his lips move.

_Robin's alive._

The world tilted to one side. The stone floor wavered beneath her and she put out a hand to steady herself. Guy's dark figure swam before her, frighteningly blurred and unfocused.

"Marian?" Those deep tones, roughened with desperation and concern.

"I need…" Her voice seemed to come from very far away. "I need to think…"

Cautiously, she raised her eyes. Allan had not moved, was still concealed in the shadow of the partly-opened door. A swift jerk of the head that could mean only one thing. _Get out of there._

She looked at him, uncomprehending. He raised his eyebrows at her, wondering at her hesitation. But she couldn't move. It was all too much to take in. Robin was here. The man she loved was alive, was even now coming to find her. And Guy – Guy –

She swallowed. Her heart thudded. Once. Twice. She could feel Allan's gaze on her, could sense his confusion and worry and irritation. A small, cold voice at the back of her mind was telling her what she had to do, what was necessary, _for the cause, for Robin – _

A shadow fell across her and suddenly, Guy was standing in front of her.

"Drink this."

Marian started slightly. She hadn't even seen him move. He was pressing something cool and metallic into her hands. She stared down absently and saw that he had brought her a goblet, not of water, but wine. A sudden pang struck through her. Even when he hated her, he had still done what little he could to make her imprisonment bearable. But she couldn't think about that. It just made what she was about to do harder.

Marian held the goblet in her hand; stared at the dark red liquid swirling inside, then, slowly, looked back at Guy's expectant face. He moved towards her. Instinct honed from long hours of training impelled her to act. She raised the goblet –

_I'm sorry – _

And brought it crashing down on the back of his skull, the red liquid splashing across his skin like steams of blood. The sound it made was horrifying – a sickening _thunk _of metal against bone – that caused the eyes to roll back in his head as he slid, boneless and fluid, into a crumpled pile on the stone floor.

The empty goblet fell from her nerveless fingers with a ringing clatter. It rolled across the floor, coming to a stop by Allan's booted feet. The echoes died out into heavy silence.

Marian gazed down at the prone figure lying at her feet. _Oh my God. What have I done? What have I done? _She had hurt him before, as the Night Watchman, but _never – _

"Blimey, Marian," said Allan blankly from the doorway. "You killed him."

"He's fine," said Marian. She could hear the harsh sound of his breathing, knew that if she knelt and placed her fingers at his throat that she would feel the pulse thudding strongly. But she couldn't touch him. Not now. She turned to Allan suddenly, shaking her head, fear or shock (or _something) _making her tones more clipped and sharp than usual as she demanded, none-too-gently, "What are you even doing here? How did you find me?"

"Came to rescue you, didn't I? Robin's outside. Thought if I went in, I could always pretend I'd come back to join Giz if I was caught –"

"That was brave of you."

He laughed with more bitterness than she remembered. "Didn't get much of a choice, to be honest. Now come on. I promised Robin I'd get you out."

Marian hesitated, glancing back at the huddled figure on the floor. The dark hair fell messily over his brow, his mouth was parted slightly. One long arm flung out as though in mute appeal. He looked uncharacteristically helpless; the thought of leaving him to the mercy of Vaisey's wrath…

"What are you waiting for?" demanded Allan. "If he wakes up, we're both done for."

"I know," she muttered distractedly, "I just…"

She felt an urgent grip close around her upper arm like a vice, and Allan – self-preservation always foremost in his mind – was pulling her towards the door, and the roughness of the gesture sent a shudder of a half-familiar memory through her. She stumbled alongside him (long confinement in chains had made her unsteady on her legs, it seemed), casting one last, fleeting look at Guy's unmoving form –

Then the long, dim corridor loomed before her, severing him from her sight as she slipped back into her old, accustomed stealth, the mask falling smoothly back into place as, with Allan at her side, she made her way swiftly (and reluctantly?) towards salvation.

* * *

><p><strong>GUH. I am SO tempted to continue this, but will probably just slap a <em>finis <em>on it as a) I have no idea where I would go with this, b) would never get around to updating it and c) don't trust myself to write a Robin who wouldn't come across as a bratty ten-year-old (shipping bias? You betcha!)**


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